


you're really pushing it (but you're going much too slowly)

by pseudoanalytics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, Holding Hands, Introspection, M/M, they're incredibly weird but on the same wavelength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 04:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics
Summary: "Ow, my fingers." Tendou's face contorts into a mock expression of anguish, but there's too much amusement in his brows for Wakatoshi to be fooled. He doesn't let go and instead half-drags the blocker off to the side. But Tendou is not so easily thwarted."Wakatoshi-kun! Ow! That hurts!" he squawks evilly, playing dirty by getting Coach Washijou's attention."Ushijima!What are you doin' over there?"Wakatoshi lets go like Tendou's hands are on fire. "Nothing. Sorry."





	you're really pushing it (but you're going much too slowly)

**Author's Note:**

> these two... give me emotions

Ushijima Wakatoshi is not as oblivious as people think.

He's observant. He's aware of his surroundings. And he has a memory like a steel trap. He can play a five set match of volleyball, completely and totally keyed into his own actions and plays, and still be able to critique his teammates' performance afterward. Wakatoshi can recall every spike and every block. He knows who slacked off and at what point it happened.

He doesn't always understand the things he sees or hears, but he remembers them and files them away for later analysis. He's also incredibly used to hearing the murmurs about him, usually that he is off in his own little world (he's not), or that sarcasm is lost on him (it is), or that he's too obsessed with volleyball (this one in particular is incredibly true).

But he also hears things meant for others. And he knows that there's this phrase a lot of people use when they're talking about Tendou.

They like to say that he's "pushing it."

Wakatoshi hadn't been entirely sure why they said that. As far as he could tell, the only things Tendou pushed were volleyball carts, and even then, he did his best to lag just long enough for Goshiki to get to them first.

" _Satori!_ " shouts Coach Washijou as he sees Tendou start jogging again just as he rounds the corner that leads to the home stretch of their roadwork route. "You're really pushin' it right now! You wanna run another lap?"

"No, sir!" Tendou calls out. He does the dorky little salute that Goshiki has imprinted on.

"Then stop slackin' off! I send you guys out there to _run_ , not sightsee! Whether you're planning to continue volleyball or not, if you wanna keep joining in practice games, you're gonna keep joining in on conditioning!"

Tendou nods and hums in agreement until Washijou is satiated enough to pick on Shirabu instead.

Wakatoshi adds it to his mental tally.

Semi says Tendou is "pushing it" when he steals a bite of his ice cream bar without asking.

Shirabu says Tendou is "pushing it" when he gets too handsy and starts pointing and poking at the setter's face.

One of their teachers says Tendou is "pushing it" when he strolls in late to class again after taking too long to change out of his practice clothes.

A ref even says Tendou is "pushing it" when he sings just a bit too loudly while trash-talking the opposing team's blockers.

Wakatoshi corners Reon in his room one evening and asks him what the saying means.

"Oh... It's an idiom. If you're 'pushing it,' you're getting real close to the line of what's acceptable or not," Reon says.

"The line?"

"Uh. A metaphorical line. The line between allowed behavior and prohibited behavior. You're dangerously close to being in trouble, basically."

Wakatoshi nods. He doesn't entirely get it, but the phrase seems to rely a lot on abstract concepts of pushable lines, and he's always been more interested in the solidity of concrete facts. If he can't see it with his eyes or hold it in his hands, it's not of much use to him.

What he does come away with from the conversation is something that he already knows: Tendou will often behave in ways that no one else does, because he follows his own set of rules. Where others might stop and let up, Tendou will keep needling and poking. Once he catches onto someone's tells, he exploits the knowledge with precision. This works very well for his blocking technique, but it's equally effective when it comes to prying information from zipped lips.

Wakatoshi watches Kawanishi's face puff up all red like a tomato as Tendou riles him up, trying to get a straight answer about an envelope he saw the other blocker shoving into his bag after class.

"Did Taichi get a confession? Hmm? Hmm? Oh! What an interesting flush you've got there! Could it be from someone in class two?" He clearly studies Kawanishi's body language and microexpressions. "Nope. No. Class one? Ah! There it is. Class one, huh? Alright. Do they sit in row one? No. Row two? No. Row three?" Tendou hisses in a singsong voice. He probably thinks he's being cute, but in reality, he looks quite eerie.

At their match with Karasuno, Tendou had asked him something very interesting. He'd been curious if Wakatoshi disliked their number ten, Hinata Shoyo, because he didn't understand him. "Things you don't understand can be creepy, right?" Tendou had inquired, and Wakatoshi had just stared back in confusion.

What did creepy have to do with liking something or not?

There are lots of things Wakatoshi doesn't understand. There are jokes and pop culture references that he knows fly over his head more likely than not. But that doesn't bother him. He shrugs it off, uncaring as long as he _does_ understand their hand signals and preplanned plays and the general rules of volleyball as a sport. There are also lots of things that Wakatoshi finds creepy, like shocking scenes in horror movies or the gym door that likes to creak open on its own or the way the bus stop by the dorms has a flickering street lamp that glows green or...

...or Tendou.

But Wakatoshi still watches horror movies, still slams the door shut, still takes the bus in the evenings, and still enjoys Tendou's company.

He knows the flexible, laughing Tendou who hums mindless tunes in the locker room showers and tell Goshiki that his bowlcut looks great. But he also knows the unnerving, cackling Tendou who tilts his head to cast his face in shadow and bugs out his eyes and lets his tongue trace his sharp teeth. Both are equally Tendou, and Wakatoshi can't imagine removing either side of his personality and still preserving the same person as a whole.

(Wakatoshi doesn't like Hinata Shoyo because he sees himself in that middle blocker's eyes. He sees his own drive reflected back at him, yet it's trapped in a body that lacks even a fraction of Wakatoshi's height and technique. He looks in Hinata's eyes and sees potential for the kind of ace who his father would have loved to play under, and he hates him for it. It's petty, but undeniable.)

_I feel like I saw another side of you today._

Wakatoshi sees all of Tendou's sides all the time. But at that last game of the spring tournament, he'd let his own creepy side out. And Tendou had liked it. Encouraged it even.

Now, after their unexpected loss, Coach Washijou is still finding ways to occupy their club time. Shiratorizawa is playing a practice match with the local college team. Wakatoshi is benched for the time being, supposedly to let the first and second years figure out how they'll play next year, when he and the others have passed on. Tendou reaches the back row and is rotated out in place of a second year libero, so he comes to sit by Wakatoshi on the sidelines. He flops down like his limbs are made of rubber and immediately starts picking at a seam between floorboards where the lacquer is worn thin.

"Wakatoshi-kun," Tendou says, "you look bored over here all alone."

"I'm not." He isn't. He's preoccupied with studying the others' playing. He plans to give them some notes during their next time out.

"Well, you look lonely."

"I'm not."

Tendou huffs and pats Wakatoshi's shoulder with a single hand. None of his fingers are wrapped today, so the calluses on each knuckle are fully visible. There's a larger than average one on the middle finger of the right hand, and if Wakatoshi looks carefully, he can see a slight discoloration of the side of the palm as well. He's fairly certain that Tendou draws, though with only these occasional observations he can't really prove it.

For one thing, Tendou has never offered to show any of his artwork, and he loves to brag about his accomplishments all the time.

Wakatoshi has never particularly wanted to ask, because he's typically thinking about volleyball and not his teammates' habits in their downtime. Besides, he knows Tendou is obsessed with reading Shonen Jump, and even though he borrows it each week to scan the ads, it's never occurred to him that Tendou might have other hobbies too.

The practice game is growing dull. Shirabu is trying the same play over and over with no new results. Goshiki is good, but he isn't at Wakatoshi's level yet, and attempting to rely on a powerful cannon is not paying off this match.

"Tendou," Wakatoshi says. He sees Tendou's head whip toward him, as if he's amazed to be addressed. "Do you draw?"

Tendou's mouth drops open. He looks like he's still smiling, but that might just be the shape of his mouth normally. "Yes! I do! I've shown you!"

Wakatoshi genuinely cannot recall seeing any of this artwork. His only guess is that Tendou is so good that he's seen it and discounted it as professional works.

"Why do you ask? Do you want a commission?"

"No."

They sit quietly for a bit longer, watching the college team take the set and gain a considerable lead into the third one.

Tendou can't leave anything alone. He "pushes it," or something. "Seriously, Wakatoshi-kun. Why'd you bring that up right now?" His wide eyes flicker out across the court. "Did you want an artistic interpretation of this moment?"

"No." He sits and considers his answer. "I saw your hands."

"My hands?" Every one of Tendou's movements is grandiose and over the top. He bends and twists like nothing else and steals Wakatoshi's attention from the court. When they play together, it's fine. Tendou is usually in front of him, dead center, so looking in his direction doesn't impair Wakatoshi's view of the action. But now, with the game on one side and Tendou on the other, it's all too apparent that his head tilts and hand gestures draw the eye away. "What's wrong with my hands?"

"Nothing."

It's Kawanishi's serve. Wakatoshi had told him to improve these after the Karasuno match, and he's curious to see if his advice has been heeded. But Tendou is still stuck on the whole hand thing. He wriggles his fingers and pokes Wakatoshi's shoulder. His head bobbles backward on his neck like the tendons have been cut, and his upper lip purses outward in a manner that should be biologically impossible.

Wakatoshi doesn't see Kawanishi's first serve, but they make the point, so he gets a second chance to watch.

Tendou's fingers crawl up his arm and tickle at his neck and jaw. He cracks his knuckles right by his ear.

Wakatoshi's eyes jump back and forth between Kawanishi and Tendou's fingers before his patience finally snaps. He grabs the hand that's hovering by his face, gripping it tightly and pulling it down where it won't distract him. The whistle tweets and Kawanishi takes a deep breath. Tendou's hand tries to escape, so Wakatoshi tightens his grip and doesn't let go. It's Tendou's left hand in _his_ left hand. There's no contest when it comes to strength.

Tendou makes a little " _ah_ " sound that's probably due to surprise, but for a moment Wakatoshi thinks he might have hurt him and the thought loosens his hold for a split second before he tenses it again. Tendou's gaze tracks to his face. He's seen a crack in Wakatoshi's facade and he'll most likely take advantage of it.

Kawanishi's serve goes out of bounds.

"Ouch," Tendou says, his inflection more curious than pained. "Ow, that's the finger I sprained on Monday."

Wakatoshi releases him before he can stop himself, instinctively trying to prevent further injury to his teammate. He comes to his senses when Tendou's face morphs into something smug and leering all at once. He's proud that he's found a way to get his hand back without fighting with force. For some reason, this irritates Wakatoshi. It's the same feeling he gets from Karasuno, and how such a weak team could manage to topple the strength of Shiratorizawa.

He grabs both of Tendou's hands in his own two and steels himself to hold on, no matter what Tendou tries to pull.

"Ow, my fingers." Tendou's face contorts into a mock expression of anguish, but there's too much amusement in his brows for Wakatoshi to be fooled. He doesn't let go and instead half-drags the blocker further to the side, hoping to clear his line of vision to the practice game. But Tendou is not so easily thwarted.

"Wakatoshi-kun! Ow! That hurts!" he squawks, playing dirty by getting Coach Washijou's attention.

" _Ushijima_! What are you doing over there?"

Wakatoshi lets go like Tendou's hands are on fire. "Nothing. Sorry."

"Hold hands on your own time!"

"Yes, sir."

Reon and Yamagata lean around Semi to give them both odd looks.

" _What were you doing?_ " Reon mouths silently, and Wakatoshi just shrugs.

"Tendou is distracting me."

"Who? Me?" The equivalent of a victory lap is still obvious on Tendou's face. He doesn't get over successes quickly. "I _wasn't_ until you decided to crush my hands like the heads of your enemies."

"You move too much."

"I have a lot of energy!"

"Then you should go for a run."

"Hey... Both of you..." Reon sneaks a couple glances at the coach. "Shh! You're really pushing it."

Pushing it.

It occurs to Wakatoshi that he's relied a little too much on Tendou being the one to push things. Maybe it's about time for him to push back. He lets the idea occupy him, even as Shiratorizawa loses impressively to the visiting team.

After the match ends, Wakatoshi addresses the players. He critiques their decisions and plays with a calm, detached tone. The usual. Then he turns to Shirabu, who is already glaring down at his feet, aware of his mistakes. Trying the same thing over and over again; hitting until the opponent breaks; that's Oikawa's modus operandi. But Oikawa is not the Shiratorizawa setter. Shirabu is. In the same way that the new ace is not Ushijima, but rather Goshiki.

It's starting to become clear that different people require different treatment, much like they all require different advice for volleyball.

"Goshiki is not me," Wakatoshi says, watching Shirabu bite his lips hard enough to turn the skin white and bloodless. "He needs more help, and you're the only one who can give it." He pauses for a moment to let the words sink in. "Good work today. Next year's team is in reliable hands."

He pretends he doesn't see the tears drip onto the court.

In the locker rooms, Wakatoshi changes slowly, waiting for everyone else to disperse until it's just him and the resident slowpoke remaining.

"Eh? What are you still doing here?" Tendou asks as he walks back from the showers. His hair is down and dripping, still in a red bowlcut after all these years. He's holding his phone, open to an endlessly scrolling social media page, probably the reason he'd taken so long to start the water in the first place.

"Waiting for you."

"Aw! That's real sweet of you."

Ushijima is going to push it now.

"I was waiting to hold your hands again."

Tendou's eyes swivel in their sockets. It looks like it wouldn’t take much more than a good thump on the back of his head to launch them out of his skull. "To break my fingers for good?"

And they call _Wakatoshi_ dense.

"No. To hold them."

Tendou just laughs and pulls a jar of styling gel from his bag. He rolls a bit between his palms and starts respiking his hair. "I see. So Eita-kun finally got the last laugh. How'd he convince you to do this one?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm assuming this a prank of Eita-kun's invention." Tendou uses his thumbs and index fingers to pinch a couple wisps of hair higher, then wipes his hands off on his damp towel. His face looks mostly amused except for a minor pinch to the eyebrows.

"It's not."

"Then why do you want to hold my hands?"

Wakatoshi frowns. "It’s okay to reject me."

He watches Tendou watch him, undoubtedly looking for his tells, however small they might be. "I'm not rejecting you. I didn't know there was something to reject."

“I asked to hold your hands, and you didn’t agree.”

“Heh?” Tendou cocks his head to the side, almost a ninety degree turn. “You can hold my hands, Wakatoshi-kun.” He hasn’t blinked for nearly thirty seconds. “You’re acting very strangely.”

Wakatoshi hums softly in reply and reaches out to take Tendou’s hands in his own. In regards to size, they’re nearly an exact match. The span from palm to fingertips is fairly even, and though Wakatoshi’s are a bit wider, Tendou’s showcase an impressive amount of ligaments and muscle wrapped around spindly bones.

Wakatoshi’s hands are hammers that he uses to slam spikes to the ground, so while they may be blunt weapons, their strength truly comes from his arm. Meanwhile Tendou channels his power through his body and into his fingers. They become beams of steel that refuse to bend to balls flying at impressive speeds, including Wakatoshi’s own spikes. Holding them makes Wakatoshi feel like a tractor that hit a birch tree and was knocked back without so much as denting the trunk.

Tendou’s hands look like ones that might wrap around someone’s ankle in the middle of the night to drag them under the bed, never to be seen again. They also look like the shields that protected Shiratorizawa’s team for three incredible years.

Ushijima puts his metaphorical hands on a metaphorical line and starts pushing it across a metaphorical floor. “Tendou. After dinner, I would like to continue reading that manga we’ve been working on.”

Thin red eyebrows shoot up into an equally red hairline. “Really?” Tendou looks down to where their hands are still connected. He’s no fool. “Wakatoshi-kun, is this perhaps some kind of attempt at a date?”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we can drop the romantic connotation and proceed as usual,” Wakatoshi says. His mother always taught him to avoid cornering someone when asking them out.

Tendou’s jaw drops so low that his uvula is visible. “Is this really happening?” His mouth immediately shuts again, sealing into a slit so small it’s a marvel he can still speak. He squints at Wakatoshi for several long moments. “If you’re serious, then yes. Sounds absolutely perfect.”

It loosens a tension that Wakatoshi didn’t even know he had. It feels like all his muscles relax, as if he’d been flexing without conscious thought and now he’s finally stopped.

“You know, I never thought I’d hear you say the word ‘romantic.’ At least, not without a negatory prefix of some kind.”

“What do you mean. I’m trying to be romantic right _now_.”

His words make Tendou laugh at some private joke that he doesn’t elaborate further. Wakatoshi doesn’t really mind.

They have to let go of each other’s hands in order to finish gathering their things and closing their lockers, but when they turn to go, Tendou comfortably relaces the fingers of his right hand with those of Wakatoshi’s left. They walk together toward the meal hall, locked together, arms swinging, and it feels entirely natural.

Tendou starts recapping the previous chapters they’d read, supposedly preparing them to pick up where they’d left off. As he chatters away, Wakatoshi gives Tendou’s hand a squeeze. He’s not afraid that it might hurt or be too strong, as powerful as his left hand is. Sure enough, instead of wincing or shaking free, Tendou just squeezes back.

And it’s hard enough to pop one of Wakatoshi’s knuckles.

  


**Author's Note:**

> tendou: holy shit was that your hand?! did that hurt?!
> 
> ushijima: yes but then it felt pleasant
> 
> tendou: ...what are you, a masochist?
> 
> ***
> 
> twitter: [@newttxt](https://twitter.com/newttxt)


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